


Run, Boy, Run (Part 1)

by InquiryFoxtrot



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Gen, Swearing, TS-Storytime 2019 Submission, minor illusions to violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 23:38:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20455454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InquiryFoxtrot/pseuds/InquiryFoxtrot
Summary: Virgil would be the first to admit that he didn't expect to spend his summer driving across the country with a bunch of weirdos. He especially didn't expect Logan Sharpe, the smartest person Virgil knew and the only one willing to watch the stars, to be a part of their little group. Or Patton Bowen, the sweet church boy who fed the birds. Or Roman Alvarado, the musical theater prodigy with a heart full of secrets.But he doesn't worry about it. Virgil has secrets too. After all, Virgil knows they're all running from something.





	1. This World Is Not Made For You

Patton needed water. He was thirsty and he wanted some water before he went to bed. That’s why he crept down the stairs from his second-story bedroom to the dark, empty kitchen on the first floor. It was late, well past midnight and well past Patton and his parent’s bedtimes. But for whatever reason, Patton couldn’t fall asleep. He had tossed and turned for a couple hours before finally deciding to get up. Hopefully a drink would help calm him down so he could get some sleep. So the dim light coming from the kitchen was unexpected and the conversation topic was an even bigger surprise- him. 

He froze on the stairs. He was usually not one to eavesdrop on anyone. But the conversation seemed serious and it was about Patton. If it was important then Patton deserved to know.

His mother was standing next to the island wall that separated the kitchen from the living room, her brows drawn in a worried expression. Her cross necklace glinted in the light, a gift from Patton for her forty-second birthday. She had had Patton’s father clasp it around her neck that day and hadn’t taken it off since. The shine from the metal caught Patton’s eye as he crouched behind the banister, hiding his face from view. 

His father stood opposite her, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his dress pants as he leaned against the kitchen table. He hadn’t changed out of his work clothes yet, which was odd. His father was a hard-working man but once he was home all work ended. He would change his clothes, help his mother cook dinner, and chat with Patton about his day. Patton could only see the left side of his face but he looked tired. 

That startled Patton. His father was many things: charming, generous, compassionate, and strong. He was stubborn, opinionated, and proud. But his father was never tired. He never showed the weight of his responsibilities. He never admitted his fears. He saved those feelings for God and God alone. The raw exhaustion on his father’s face shook Patton in a way he never thought possible. 

His mother sighed, running a delicate hand through her graying hair. “I just don’t know what to do about him anymore,” She admitted quietly. Patton could hear the helplessness in her voice. “I mean, what did we do wrong?” Her voice cracked. Patton’s expression darkened as he realized just why they were talking about him. He felt as if the floor dropped beneath him as he realized someone outed him. His parents were God fearing people. They would never understand that this was who Patton was. 

“I don’t know, darling, I really don’t know.” Patton’s father rubbed his hand over his face. His complexion looked waxen under the kitchen light. The yellow glow making his normally strong father look pale and sickly. Patton felt sick to his stomach. “Maybe we didn’t do anything at all.” 

Patton swallowed the urge to punch the air triumphantly. His father was always the voice of reason in their family. He was always there to keep everyone’s heads pointed in the right direction. He was who Patton turned to diffuse arguments between Patton and his mother. He kept Patton sane. Patton knew that if anyone could fix what his mother was planning it would be his dad. Patton only prayed that whatever “it” was wouldn’t be awful.

There was a long silence that followed the statement. Patton thought he could see tears in his mother’s eyes. She shook her head slightly. “You don’t mean that, do you?” As much as he disagreed with her, Patton’s heart broke a little. His mother only loved three people in this world, God, Patton, and his father. He couldn’t imagine believing one of them was against the other. 

“No- maybe? I also don’t know. W-What am I supposed to do, Claire? That’s my son- my only son. Am I supposed to send him away over nothing?” His father’s voice raised before cutting off abruptly. He anxiously looked out the kitchen and into the living room. Both his parents stood in silence, waiting to see if they had woken their son. Patton pressed his back against the stairs and ducked out of view, his heart pounding. 

Send him away. They wanted to send him away. 

“It’s not nothing! He’s sinning, he’s committing an awful sin and I can’t go on if I did nothing, Joseph!” His mother whispered harshly. She slammed her fist against the island wall with a loud thud. It was morbid curiosity that kept Patton glued to the stairwell, frozen in fear. “In this house, there is God. And my son will not go against Him.” Her tone, even though it was rough and shaking, spoke of finality. Patton prayed for his father to make her see reason. 

“Be careful, my dear, we may love God, but we are not God. ‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.’ Who are we to judge him? To condemn him? To cast him away?” His father said. He took a step forward, practically pleading with his mother. Patton let out the breath he had been holding. Whatever happened, he would have his father. “What would be the worse sin? Patton being gay or us abandoning him?” 

“I don’t know. But I think ignoring it would be the greatest sin of all.” The tremor in his mother’s voice was gone and Patton knew there was no changing her mind now. “It won't be forever. A summer, at most.” She was trying to soothe the blow for his father but it felt like she was trying to calm herself as well. Patton’s blood ran cold. 

“I- fine. Fine.” 

All hope Patton had left rushed out of his body as his heart dropped. His breath quickened, his hands were shaking. A sharp, silent sob shuddered through him. “I’ll go wake him up so we can talk to him.” His mother sounded so unaffected. Like she wasn’t dooming Patton to a legal form of torture. She was so ready to abandon him. How long had she been planning this? How long had she known?

His hopelessness turned to rage, which turned to panic, which turned to unadulterated terror. Patton was not a strong kid, he had never been a strong kid. He was soft and sheltered and fragile. How would he make it in a place like that? 

Patton heard the sound of rustling as his mother prepared to ruin his life. He should have scrambled back up to his room before his mother saw him but he remained glued to the stairs. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Shock and panic kept him rooted to his spot, ready to be discovered. The bitter part of mind wanted them to see him there. Let them realize that he heard everything. Let them see him cry. He wanted to see their guilt, he wanted them to feel as much anguish as he did. 

“No, not tonight,” His father said as Patton heard his mother stop moving. “Let him sleep. He deserves one more night, Claire. If we are truly going to go through with this then we owe him that.” Even his father was aware of how awful this was. How could his mother not see that? That shocked Patton out of his stupor. He scrambled back up the stairs as quietly as he could, being careful to pause and hold his breath whenever he heard movement. He got to his room and slipped inside, shutting the door with a barely audible  _ click _ .

He walked over to his bed and sat on it, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress. He took a shuddering breath, then another. He felt tears building in his eyes. Patton tried in vain to blink them away. He brought a hand up to his chest, it felt like it was getting tighter with every watery gasp. Why did it hurt so much? His other hand flew up to his mouth to muffle the surprise sob. Then the dam collapsed and Patton felt like his chest was caving in.

His sobs came easily now, the shock was passing and the solitude let him cry without witnesses or judgement. That was it. It was all over. They were going to send him away. He had trusted them, they were his parents. They were supposed to love him no matter what, support him no matter what, accept him no matter what. But they didn’t. They didn’t even talk to Patton about it. They betrayed him without a second thought or with any concern for Patton’s feelings. The devastation that came from the realization was crushing. It felt like betrayal, it felt like loss. It made Patton curl in on himself and cry harder. 

_ I want to go home. _ He thought, the sudden ache for the comfort and safety of home wrapping around Patton’s body before he realized that he was home. He was in the only home he had ever known. It was a terrible feeling, to realize your house didn’t feel like home anymore. It was a heavy, hollow feeling that left you feeling empty and cold. A feeling that Patton felt settle like lead in his veins. 

A brush of fur startled him from his thoughts. He looked up to see Nico press his body against Patton as the black cat walked around Patton’s torso. The cat came to Patton’s other side and began to meow impatiently, kneading the side of Patton’s thigh. He let out a watery laugh. Patton didn’t know what he’d do without that cat. Nico was a charcoal black stray that lived in his neighborhood. Patton had first met him as a kitten about five years ago. He had left food out for the feline, not wanting the little one to go hungry, and soon Patton had gained the cat’s trust. Now, Nico tended to jump from the oak tree in Patton’s front lawn into his room through the window- which he always kept open. 

“Hey buddy,” He said in a shaky voice, running his hand through Nico’s coarse fur. Somehow, Nico always knew when Patton was upset. It was his superpower. Throughout Patton’s life whenever he was angry or sad or lonely there was always Nico there to make him feel better. Don’t get him wrong, Patton loved dogs, but nothing could beat Nico. 

Patton leaned back in his bed, letting the cat take up his preferred position- curled up on Patton’s chest. His purrs reverberated in Patton’s ribcage and the tension in his muscles released. Patton took one deep breath in, then out. He took another. He was pretty sure he was done crying. His heart felt a little lighter and his head a little clearer. Patton reached over his to his nightstand, disturbing Nico as little as possible, although the cat still extended his claws into Patton’s skin, and grabbed a book. He was still too restless and scared to sleep but he could still escape his reality for a little while.

A knock on the door startled him and he just barely managed to keep the book from sliding out of his grasp. “Pat?” It was his father. He held his breath. “Are you awake?” Patton stayed silent, frozen in place. He heard his father sigh, like he was about to say something else, before heavy footsteps receded back to his parents’ room.

Nico jumped, bounding off Patton’s chest and back out his window. Patton sagged and released the breath he’d been holding, the knock must have startled the cat. He would be back later, hopefully, but now Patton was without the feline’s comfort and he needed it tonight more than ever. There were times Patton envied Nico, he desired the freedom. When Nico wanted to run, he ran, when he wanted to hide, he hid, if he ever grew tired of Patton and his window the cat could disappear. The only thing holding Nico back were the limitations of his own body. Patton wished he could say the same. 

Patton shot up. He could. He could do whatever the hell he wanted to if he really tried. The thought was barely there- half an idea spurred by panic and impulse. He could leave right now, pack his bags and disappear. He had clothes, one hundred and fifty bucks he saved dog sitting for Mrs. Santiago, a backpack filled with energy bars and a bus card. He could leave. If Patton wanted to hide, he could hide, and if Patton wanted to run then he could fucking run. 

Patton almost leaped out of his bed, grabbing his bookbag and tossing it on his mattress. It wouldn’t be forever, he thought as he searched through his dresser, tossing random clothes onto his bed. Just until his parents cooled down, then he would come home. The summer at most, he thought bitterly at the irony of the statement. His parents were getting what they wanted after all. He grabbed his toothbrush and deodorant from his bathroom and snatched his wallet and keys from the nightstand. He folded up his clothes and grabbed a jacket- it was June but it could be cold where he’s going. Wherever that was, was to be determined. 

Patton threw other necessities into his bag and laced up his boots. He silently thanked his parents for taking him camping last year. At the time he’d hated it, he still did, but his hiking boots were the best shoes he owned. Now he would finally put them to good use.

He looked at his phone- it was 2:17am. He should be able to get out of town and figure out what he was going to do before his parents woke up. He set his phone on his desk, his parents had one of those tracking apps on it. He didn’t want to risk them trying to track him. He would use a phone booth if he needed to, maybe buy a disposable cell. 

He shouldered his bag and turned around, perching himself on his windowsill. He should leave now. The branch was sturdy enough to hold his weight, he could leave and no one would know he was gone. 

Patton grimaced, he couldn’t go without giving his parents some explanation. They were making a mistake- a terrible, dangerous mistake but he loved them and they loved him, even if they were bad at showing it. He couldn’t let them think he was dead or something worse. Patton rushed and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbled down a quick note and hoped they would understand. Not just the note, but Patton too. His reasoning, his fear. He gripped the window frame and took a deep breath. He heaved himself onto the tree branch and _ disappeared. _

  
  


On his desk was his phone- a text from a friend illuminating the screen, and a note, scrawled in his favorite blue pen: _ I love you. But I will not let you cast the first stone. _ The shadow of a boy running down the street already getting slowly, painfully, smaller.

Nico crept back in, circling the bed, looking for a chest that wasn’t there and letting out a mournful meow. 

o0o

Logan was never one to lose his composure. He never got angry or sad or happy. Or, on the rare occasions he did, he never showed it. He had mastered the art of “cool and neutral” early in life. He never let what anyone said affect him. Not about him, about his family, or his friends. He merely smiled a polite smile and tried to tune the words out. In many ways, he was unshakable, unbreakable. He was a piece of coal turned diamond after years of heat, pressure, and politics. 

Logan often found he had to be. Letting himself be ruled by his emotions would only prove to hurt him. Logan’s life was a long, boring line of dinner parties, business meetings, and uncomfortable silence. It was easier- no, safer- to remain neutral. Logan knew how to smile and nod his head while a friend of his father ranted about politics. He knew it was best to shake his head when his mother’s coworker made a disgusted face when they passed the soup kitchen in the city. He memorized the correct responses to every question. 

“Yes, I am doing well in school.” 

“I’m very excited for university.” 

“My parents are doing wonderful, thank you for asking.” 

To the outside perspective, Logan was the perfect son of perfect parents. Not a piece of thread out of place or a speck of dust not swept away. The family portraits showed a happy, respectable family because Logan knew how to pretend.

Every word out of Logan’s mouth was thought about, calculated, assessed. He knew what would happen if he didn’t. He remembered the crude glances of the businessmen and other aristocrats looking at Logan like he was nothing- a stupid, disgusting little boy. He remembered their children laughing, tearing his books from the shelves and ripping up the pages. He remembered the sharp sting of his father’s slap. He remembered his mother’s punishments, unjust and overzealous, accompanied by a tight lipped “it’s for the best, Logan.” 

Those instances were few and far between, Logan was a quick learner, but he never forgot. Loga never forgot anything, he remembered every slip up, every look, every taunt. They piled in a corner of his mind, where he visited them when he needed a reminder to stay  _ quiet.  _

Logan knew the dangers of losing his composure. It took years to build a reputation and one second to ruin it. If anyone were to see him, he would never be taken seriously again. He knew it was better to smile and nod. Tears were for children and anger for imbeciles. Excitement and joy for both. If he wanted to do anything with his life he needed to keep his cool. Yet, he couldn’t stop crying. 

He sat on his bed, tears staining the crumpled paper in his hands. They fell like a waterfall, a salty river mixing with snot and sweat. It was disgusting, and even though he was alone, he felt the shame and need to look presentable creeping up within him. It only served to make him cry harder.

His leg shook, bouncing up and down, vibrating in his blurry vision. His skin was crawling, covered in goosebumps as an invisible assailant scurried over it. His whole body felt restless, not filled with energy, but with an indescribable, raw emotion that made him want to punch a wall. Or rip up his pillow. Or burn his paper. Or all three. 

He could barely see the exam anymore but the red marking on top was ingrained in his mind. Failure, failure, failure, it seemed to scream. A thunderous roar that echoed his own shrieking thoughts. Failure, failure, _ failure!  _

Logan gasped and shuddered. It was one test, he tried to reason with himself, it was just one stupid test. It wouldn’t even matter in a few weeks. But his watery lungs and shaking frame seemed to disagree. Logically he knew he’d be fine but emotionally he couldn’t help thinking it was the end of everything.

His reaction was idiotic. He shouldn’t be crying over this. It was only a seventy-two, some of his classmates would have celebrated a grade like that. But Logan couldn’t stop the dread that overtook him. He’d never gotten below a ninety in his entire life. He forgot a homework sheet once in seventh grade and cried in the bathroom for an hour. His father told him to suck it up and handle the failure as a man. His mother warned him to never let it happen again. His parents tutted at the ninety-three he got on his geometry final and told him to do better. A seventy-two was unheard of, indescribably blasphemous. 

Yet here it was. A testament to Logan’s failings, his inadequacies, his stupidity. Everything his parents hated about Logan, everything  _ Logan _ hated about Logan, summarized in blood red ink. It made Logan feel sick to his stomach. 

He hadn’t even missed that much. It had only been three days- he had caught a nasty fever and was bedridden for almost a week. It wasn’t his fault there was a calculus test the day he got back that his teacher wouldn’t let him reschedule. It wasn’t his fault that everything on the test was taught while he was absent. It wasn’t his fault the teacher’s website was down and he couldn’t get the notes. It definitely wasn’t his fault that he had no friends in his calculus class to catch him up. 

But that still wasn’t enough to keep his brain from calming down. He should have realized how close to the end of the unit they were. He should have known, he should have studied more. If he wasn’t so  _ stupid _ it never would have happened. 

His own failings weren’t even the worst of it. No, the worst part of it was his parent’s reaction. He’d been dreading it the moment he left his school. He could imagine their faces already, the disappointment and anger. 

But they weren’t home when Logan got back. They had been on various business trips the past couple weeks but a part of Logan still hoped they’d be there every time he walked through the door. Anyone at home was better than no one. So he hoped every day and prepared himself for the pang of disappointment. Today was no different.

He had opened the ornate blue door and quietly made his way to the living room couch- a white leather he was banned from sitting on unless guests were there. He sat there anyway, a quiet act of defiance. His parents weren’t there to tell him off anyway. His eyes were still red and puffy from crying on his walk home. He had tried to stifle his remaining sobs despite the fact that he was alone. 

His phone had vibrated beside him and Logan saw the prim face of his mother light up the screen. His heart dropped and nausea coursed through him. Okay, Logan, he thought. It’s showtime. He furiously scrubbed the tears away and took a deep breath. His face was still blotchy, but it had calmed enough that he could blame allergies if he wanted to. Logan tried to steel himself for the coming conversation and he answered.

“Hello, Mother. Father,” He said. Prim, polite, perfect. Maybe if he acted perfectly on the phone they wouldn’t be as harsh. He doubted it, but it was worth a try. His parent’s stern faces were on the other side of the line. Logan often wondered how they could look so angry when they were staring at a computer screen instead of their son.

“We saw your exam score,” She said instead of greeting him. It seemed they were getting straight to the point. That did not bode well for Logan. “Care to explain?” She gave him a look, one that he was more than familiar with. It was a common one- it was the one she gave him when she wanted him to stop crying, when she thought Logan was being childish, or when she just wanted him to shut up. It worked, nothing made his voice die in his throat like Logan’s mother. It was stern, condescending. It made Logan feel so small. And it was angry, like she would explode at a moment’s notice. She  _ would _ explode if Logan didn’t say what she wanted to hear. 

“I- I was sick-” Logan began and stumbled through an explanation of his last couple days. His mother did not look impressed and Logan could see his father’s expression darkening. He was sure the stuttering and wobble to his voice wasn’t helping his case either. “But I went for extra help and did all the extra credit I could. My grade is right back where it was before. Grades are locked in and graduation is coming soon. I fixed it.” He added hastily, hoping to fan the flames of his parent’s growing rage.

“You shouldn’t have needed to do any of it,” His father said and Logan perked up. For a moment he thought they were on his side. “Had you thought ahead for just one moment you would have realized.Teachers don’t just stop teaching for sick students. I swear to god, Logan, you can be so  _ stupid _ sometimes.” 

Logan nodded his head as his eyes burned. “Yes, Father.” The conversation continued like that. His mother reminded him of his status, his father told him he’s disappointed. It always ended with Logan near tears and his parents regretting having a son more and more. Logan had had this conversation with them before but it seemed to hurt more each time. 

“You haven’t been hanging around those kids again have you, dear?” His mother asked suddenly. Her tone was sickly sweet. “Because I know how bad of an influence they are.” She didn’t even pretend to be concerned. Logan’s face burned. 

“Only sometimes, Mother,” He said sheepishly. “They’re my friends.” 

“It’s a yes or no question, Logan. You know how I feel about them.” His mother’s stern gaze pierced him through the phone screen. How did they always manage to make Logan feel so young. He was seventeen, almost eighteen, yet they always made him feel like he was twelve again. 

“Yes,” Logan whispered. 

“What was that?”

“Yes!” He said. “They’re my friends.” He declared and he saw his parents’ faces darken.

“Well, with this sudden drop in your grades-” His father began. “And your insistence on surrounding yourself with- with these delinquents something has to be done. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, Father.” Logan’s head dipped further. His hands were trembling in his lap. His vision was blurry with tears that he was determined to keep from overflowing.

“We’ll send Markus to the estate for the summer. He’ll make sure you don’t…. Step out of line. We need to clear your head of all this silliness before you go off to university.” His father declared and the tears in Logan’s eyes spilled over traitorously. He held his breath and tried to blink them away. 

“Don’t cry you foolish boy,” His mother snapped. “We hate this as much as you do.” 

Logan nodded dumbly and wiped his eyes but that couldn’t stop his tears. He had the good sense not to breathe through his nose, at least, lest he attract their attention again. He could hear his parents laying out the details of Markus’s stay but Logan couldn’t hear them. Markus was the family butler from Logan’s youth- Markus hated Logan and the feeling was mutual.He hadn’t been to Logan’s house in several years, his parents trusting Logan to keep the place clean for them. Still, Logan knew that a summer with Markus meant a summer alone and a stern call to his parents if he tried to leave. 

His parents had said goodbye and Logan hung up the phone. He had silently crept upstairs and sat on his bed where he remained until now, sobbing in crushing oppressive silence. Logan looked up at his desk, almost empty except for a notepad, picture frame, and beaded necklace. His parents insisted it be neat and not cause any distractions but that never stopped Logan from sneaking a few personal items. Looking back at him was a younger Logan- standing in front of one of the large dinosaur models in the smithsonian with his childhood nanny, Laurel.

His parents had hired her on a whim, neither having to time or patience to take care of an infant. They ended up keeping her around when they realized that children don’t gain complete independence at age five and she became the person who raised him.

Logan got up and moved towards the photo. Seven year old Logan was beaming at the camera while Laurel grasped his shoulders, in the middle of planting a kiss on his cheek. Logan’s heart twisted. He missed her. Laurel was the only person who had truly taken care of him. 

She was the one who made him soup when he was sick and held him after a nightmare. She had kissed his cuts and bruises better. Logan thumbed the photo gently. He couldn’t remember much of the trip but it had been some of the happiest days of his entire life. He remembered that there were no prying eyes, no aristocrat looking down on him or businessman sizing him up. It was just him and Laurel enjoying something that made Logan happy. He remembered feeling loved. God, he hadn’t felt like that in- 

Realization hit Logan like a punch to the gut. He hadn’t felt like that since Laurel left. He realized that his parents had never shown him care, not even once. It had been almost ten years since then. Surely even the most distant of parents would have shown an ounce of care. But the more Logan thought about the more he realized how little his parents cared about Logan’s wellbeing. 

Yeah, they cared about his image. The heir to the Sharpe fortune couldn’t be anything less than perfect. But they had never, not even once, asked Logan how his day was, if he was alright, worried when he was sick. They’d never even told Logan they loved him. Jesus, did they ever love him at all? 

Logan threw the photo down and screamed. Damn the quiet. Damn the rules. Damn his parents. Damn Laurel. Damn them all! Logan was sick of it, sick of the control, the lies, the half attempts at affection. If his parents didn’t fucking want him around then he wouldn’t burden them by staying. 

He pressed his palm to his chest and kept screaming. Who cared if he disturbed the neighbors, his parents weren’t here- they never were. He was shouting, crying all the nonsense words he kept locked inside. He squeezed his eyes tight and let out one final bellow.

** _“I never fucking deserved it!”_ **

And his outburst cut off as soon as it began. He was still angry- god he was furious, but his chest didn’t feel like it was going to cave in anymore. Now he could leave with a clear head.

Logan ripped one of his suitcases from his closet. It was one test. Grades were locked- the year was almost over. Then he was going to university and his parents would never have to deal with him again. Why couldn’t they let him have one summer? 

Screw them, he thought. He would take his summer back himself. Then he’d fuck off to university and never see them again. He’d give them the life they’d always wanted. Wait and see how long it would take them to forget they even had a son. 

Logan shoved all his worldly possessions in the suitcase and stormed downstairs, ready to leave. 

He paused- he couldn’t leave without the photo. He needed it like he needed water, a lifeline to what he deserved. It would be something to keep him sane, to keep him moving forward. 

He ran upstairs and snagged the photo from his desk. As he headed back he passed his father’s office. Logan ducked inside and took one long look at all the unnecessary decor. Ceramics and oil paintings and awards lined the walls. Logan snatched one of the statues and smashed it on the ground. He grabbed another and slammed it into the glass frames for his father’s awards. The box cutter on the desk tore through canvas. Logan whirled around like a madman, smashing, slashing, destroying the pristine suffocation that had tied him down all those years. 

When he was satisfied with his work he raced back downstairs. He grabbed his keys and waltzed outside. His heart felt lighter than it had in years. He locked the door behind him and skipped down the street, humming to himself and listening for anything to drown out the quiet _ . _

  
Behind him, his house looked like no one lived there at all. White, clean, and  _ silent _ .


	2. They're Trying To Catch You

It was a bright, sunny afternoon. The sun was high in the sky, shining pleasantly on the ground below. It was cooler today than it had been for several weeks. The oppressive heat and humidity seemed to have faded and a cool breeze blew through the air. The trees that lined the city streets were green and full, with small patches of flowers blooming beneath them. Roman could spot shapes in the clouds overhead and bouts of laughter shrieked from the park across the street. In many ways, it was an idyllic day in Roman’s home, which he thought did not fit the occasion.

Roman was a little upset if he was being honest. He had expected the universe to pick up on the fact that this was A Very Shitty Day and be accomodating. Roman had been expecting thunderstorms, a strike of lightning, the shriek of a grieving maiden in the alleyway. Even regular rain would’ve been better than this. Hell, Roman would’ve accepted a normal hot and humid day. The fact that it was the nicest weather they’d had in weeks seemed like a personal slap to the face to Roman. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Again. He didn’t even take it out to answer this time- he knew what it was about. And, to be honest, he didn’t think he could bring himself to answer anymore. He expected it was one of his friends, asking for an explanation or his story or if he was okay, none of which he could give right now. If he explained this situation then he would have to explain everything. Then everyone would know he was an awful human being. His phone felt like an anchor. It chained him to his consequences and now he was drowning. 

In retrospect, he should have known it wasn’t going to end well. With every slight his list of wrongs would grow longer and the potential backlash gained more ammunition. That was how it worked with  _ her, she _ lured you in with promises  _ she _ wouldn’t keep and then when it wasn’t beneficial anymore  _ she _ left you to deal with the consequences. 

Most of all, he should have realized that one day  _ she _ would take it too far. Roman felt like his moral compass had been irreversibly damaged but even he still had limits. Lines he refused to cross, even for their deal. Roman should have known that one day he wouldn’t have been able to do it and  _ she _ would punish him severely for it. 

He wanted to scream. Roman had worked so hard, so incredibly hard, to appease  _ her _ and it had all been for nothing. Roman remembered the months of walking on eggshells, terrified of saying the wrong word and  _ her _ telling everyone. Then  _ she _ did it anyway. Months of effort ending in nothing but guilt. Roman hadn’t even managed to protect  _ him _ . Roman supposed it wasn’t surprising, he violated his end of the deal and in return  _ she _ violated _ hers _ . But Roman did not think it was necessary to ruin everything. Now his story was out and Roman was not going to stick around and face the consequences. 

He bounced his knew nervously. He had only recently gotten used to the anxiety. It took him weeks to get used to constantly looking over his shoulder, the steady rumble of nerves, and the nausea that always simmered just beneath the surface. It was an uncomfortable way to live, feeling like the ball would drop at any moment. His nerves made him feel like every day was the end of the world.

He had never been a nervous person before. Growing up, Roman had always been the social butterfly. He made friends with everything and everyone. He wasn’t used to the isolation. He’d always been so sure of himself. Confident, social, charismatic. Until he wasn’t. Roman suspected  _ she _ had something to do with it. No, Roman knew  _ she _ had everything to do with it. But what could he do now? What was done was done. Right now he had to focus on making sure he got through the day without passing out. 

He felt like he would’ve all day. As soon as he found out what happened, it was as if the floor had crumbled beneath him and he was still falling. His skin had felt feverish, his blood like ice. Roman’s chest was tight, only allowing him the most shallow breaths. It made him have to focus to get through the day without hyperventilating. His head felt like a cloud had settled there, leaving his thoughts in a haze of panic. 

The bus would get here any minute now, and with it, Roman’s get out of jail free card. He’d had this escape option on the backburner for a while. He had thought that if the worst possible scenario happened, he could always leave. He had never meant to actually go through with it- the plan was his last resort for a reason- but then the worst of the worst happened and he had nothing left to fix it. 

His didn’t know where he was going yet but it would be far, far away from here. Another shudder of anxiety racked through him at the thought. He’d never gone farther than Vermont in his entire life. He’d definitely never gone anywhere without his mother. Or his siblings. Or his dog. His heart constricted painfully at the thought of his family. He hadn’t even left yet and he missed them dearly. He hadn’t really comprehended yet that if all went according to plan, he would never see them again. But even with that block he felt tears brimming in his eyes when he thought of them. A part of him felt guilty for leaving them. Most of him felt guilty, actually. But the louder part of him only screamed  _ survive survive survive _ . So he didn’t falter. 

His phone rang again, this time with a ringtone Roman knew anywhere. His heart skipped a beat. The nerves in Roman’s gut threatened to swallow him whole as he answered. “Hey, Mami,” He breathed, and despite everything, he found himself relaxing at his mother’s voice. 

“Hi Romano,” Her voice was soft, accented, and sweet. Roman used to think his mother’s voice could solve anything. “How’s my little boy doing?”

“Not great,” He answered honestly. “It’s been a really bad day.” The tears in his eyes surprised him. He thought he was all cried out for the day. There had come a point when Roman didn’t think his body could produce any more tears, no matter how overwhelmed he was or how high his emotions were running. But there was something about laying it all out for his mother that left him feeling raw and vulnerable. She had always been there for him, through every rough patch of his entire life. He wanted nothing more than to run into her arms and let her tell him it was all going to be alright. 

“Oh, mijo,” She whispered. “What’s wrong?” And a sob jumped in his throat. How could he tell her? How could he tell her the awful things he’s done, let his mother know that her son was a disappointment? His mother always had a high opinion of him, of course she did, he was her son; and Roman tried every day to live up to those standards. She always tried to see the best in people, but how could she know what Roman has done and still think he was a good person? How could he break the news to her? He couldn’t. 

Call him a coward, but he couldn’t do that to her. She was bound to find out soon anyway but Roman wanted to hold onto whatever good graces with his mother he had left. It was going to hurt her more in the end but Roman couldn’t bring himself to tell her.

“A lot,” He responded. “I’ll tell you when I get home.” He hated lying to her. It was yet another slight he couldn’t take back, another example of how Roman wasn’t the person everyone believed him to be. It took every ounce of his being not to come clean, to back away before it was too late. Some foolish part of him still believed that his mother would make everything okay. 

“Okay, I’m making stew for dinner. Your favorite,” She said and Roman could practically see her smile, warm and loving. She was still trying to cheer him up. Would she do so if she knew how awful Roman had become? “Everything will work itself out, baby, don’t you worry.” 

“I know.” It wouldn’t.  _ She _ was wily and clever and Roman would not make it out alive if he stayed. The lump in Roman’s throat was ready to burst. “I love you, mama. A-And tell Isaiah, Isabel, and Solimar I love them too.” Roman felt a tear slide down his cheek. 

“Okay, you might give Isaiah a heart attack though. I don’t think you’ve even admitted you like him.” She joked and Roman let out a watery laugh. “I love you, see you soon. Buh-bye!”

“Bye.” Roman hung up the phone. He turned it over in his hand a few times. He should call his friends. Or text them. He should let someone know what he was doing. They might think something awful happened to him. What if they thought he had been kidnapped? What if people thought he was dead? He unlocked it and opened his contacts. His finger hovered above the screen and he paused. 

What good would that do? Best case scenario: it would just worry everyone. Maybe worse than if they thought he had gotten hurt. Worst case scenario: someone would call the cops and Roman’s plan would be ruined before it could begin. He groaned. When did his life become so complicated? 

(He knew the answer. He’d asked himself this question before and he always knew the answer).

God, the amount of money he’d pay for this all to go away. He wished he could turn back time, erase the past couple months and do it over. Who knew what would be different? He could have salvaged the friendships he had been forced to ruin, maybe erase the pain he had caused those he cared about. He would’ve never given  _ her _ the time of day. 

No, he would have. He may have become evil and wrong, but at his core he didn’t want people getting hurt. If it meant his friend could’ve kept his secret a little longer then Roman would choose this path again and again. Maybe that made him a bad person, maybe it made him a good friend. It didn’t matter anymore, that friendship had been broken alongside a hundred others and that secret was out now too. 

Roman clutched his phone and got up, strolling confidently to the green trash can on the street corner. He held it over the container and stared at the black screen. He couldn’t keep it, he couldn’t keep the constant reminder of home. It would hurt too much and it would only deter him from his plan. Roman knew that if he had constant connection to his friends and family, he would back out last minute and he couldn’t stop now. He dropped it in the garbage, without giving himself time to convince himself not to and turned away, dusting his hands off. 

He sat back on the dusty bench and waited for the bus to arrive. He shouldered his bookbag as it drove into view, taking a deep breath. This was it, the last chance to go back. He could turn around, fish his phone out of the trash and go home. He could let his mother wrap him in a tight hug and feed him rice and stew until he felt better. He could wait for a teacher or student or somebody to vouch for him. He could hope that this would all go away. He could let the adults handle it like they always had. 

But he was an adult now too, Roman was eighteen and he could solve his own problems. He steeled himself and stepped onto the bus. He was responsible for himself now, no more coddling, no more protection. He forced himself to take a seat and stared dutifully out the window as the bus pulled away. Roman didn’t deserve the tenderness anymore. He fucked up and now he would pay the price. He watched the familiar streets of his hometown zoom by until the bus pulled onto the exit to the highway and then he was going, going,  _ gone _ . 

His phone rang again. A familiar song accompanied the face of a familiar woman that illuminated the garbage around it. It rang again. And again and again, as a mother tried in vain to reach her son. 

o0o

Virgil was often proud to say he wasn’t an impulsive person. He had never been particularly spontaneous. He’d never done something in the moment, just because he could. He planned things, in detail, months in advance. His goals had steps to achieve them and those steps had timelines and plans within. He set deadlines and was terrified of missing them. He studied for hours before a test and had never hung out with a friend without making sure he, the friend, and the friend’s parents were okay with it a week beforehand. Hell, he even planned his conversations. He spent more time talking to himself than other people. He planned every word he said, turning it over again and again in his head, reciting key phrases to himself in the car. 

He wasn’t sure when he developed these habits. Sometimes he thought it was when he was thirteen and waited until the night before to do a project- resulting in absolutely no sleep, a half-assed project, and a very tearful apology to his teacher. Other times he thought it was when he embarrassed himself in front of a bunch of older kids when he was eight. Little Virgil would not shut up and it was only after the fact that he realized he’d made a fool of himself. On rare occasions he mused if it was when he was five years old and fell off the monkey bars. A friend of his had dared him and Virgil had cried until his mother came to pick him up.

Most of the time, though, he knew it was because if he didn’t make plans, no one would. Virgil learned from a young age that it was going to be him against the world. He was a sensible little boy, reasonable and mature for his age. It was obvious he was going to need to grow up fast. 

So he did. It took a while, much longer than Virgil cared to admit, but eventually he learned to cook, clean, sew, garden. He had patched up his old clothes more times than he could count. Sewing up clothes, adding fabric, hemming and re-hemming, anything he could do to make his raggy clothes fit. He cooked every meal and made sure his father ate too. The house was always a little dirty, a fine layer of dust Virgil couldn’t manage to scrub away, but Virgil kept it clean enough to live in. The garden wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep Virgil sane.

He fixed his father’s car, got a job, helped the old man stumble to bed after a long night. Hell, he even paid for his own phone. A busted up old thing that he saved for months to afford. He remembered almost crying from happiness when he realized he had something that was completely his own. Virgil was proud he was so independent. He was proud that he could live on his own if he wanted to. He had created a life for himself where he was the one in control. 

Of course, this was outside his home. At work and at school Virgil could be smart, he could have friends, he could say what he wanted to say when he wanted to say it. That Virgil was successful and he had his life together.

At home it was a different story. The rotting old home was his father’s land. Not literally rotting, but figuratively. Nothing brought inside stayed alive for long: plants, pets, sobriety, hope, love. Virgil felt like the house was poison, one day it would creep into his lungs and brain and overtake him too. 

This was where the air smelled like spoiled alcohol, smoke, and vomit. Where the bills were an ever-growing pile of incompetency on the desk of his father’s study and going to work was more of a suggestion than an expectation. Virgil didn’t even think his dad had a job anymore. He wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. 

His house felt like a lawless land. Behind that wooden door Virgil was at the mercy of his father’s moods. Life inside was dictated by a bank that called every other day and a father that didn’t understand that their house was not meant to survive off of a part time job. It felt like everything there was out of Virgil’s hands, out of his control, something left to the credit card companies- or worse- his father. 

But as Virgil raced out of his family room and barreled out the front door, he felt more in control than he had in his entire life. Even though shit had just hit the fan, Virgil had caused it to hit the fan. Not any outside party. Virgil. It was the most agency Virgil had ever had over his situation. Maybe it was sad that Virgil considered ruining his own life the highlight of independence but right now he was too elated to care.

Most surprising, he hadn’t planned any of it. The past half an hour had been a flurry of spontaneous decisions fueled by anger and fear and frustration. Any notion of a plan had flown out of his mind long ago and instinct was the only thing keeping him moving.

He could hear his father roaring behind him. A hoarse, scathing bellow demanding he get back there  _ right now. If Virgil didn’t turn around this instant- Virgil, that good for nothing bastard- _

“ ** _Virgil!_ ** ”

Normally, that would strike unimaginable fear into Virgil’s heart. But right now all he could do was laugh. He felt a little crazy laughing at the source of his torment. He  _ had _ gone crazy considering what he had just done.

He glided into the front seat of his father’s beat up 87’ Jeep, the leather interior new and entirely Virgil’s doing. Normally, Virgil would feel guilty for stealing the car, but at this point it was more Virgil’s car than his father’s anyway so Virgil’s conscience was blissfully clean. He threw his dark purple duffel bag in the passenger seat and jammed the key into the ignition. His father burst through the front door right as Virgil thrust the car in first gear. 

“ **Boy!** What are you-” His father cut himself off in horror as he realized what his son was doing. “Stop it, you  _ bastard _ . You  _ thieving, low life, son of a _ -” He was cut off by the roar of the engine as Virgil sped out of the driveway, hitting his father with a forceful gust of wind. He kept pushing the gas pedal harder and harder, faster and faster.

He watched the speedometer reach forty, fifty, sixty miles per hour on the narrow suburban road. In the distance he could see his father screaming but Virgil couldn’t hear him over the sound of the wind and the engine. Virgil took a sharp turn at the end of the street and slowed his speed down now that his dad was safely out of sight. 

He did a quick look around for any cops in the area, just to make sure he wouldn’t be thrust immediately back where he started. Finding nothing he felt the relief rush through him as he ran a hand through his hair.

Virgil let out a shaky breath as the adrenaline of the past half hour faded and the panic began to settle in.  _ Holy shit _ , he thought. He stole a car. He stole his  _ dad’s _ car. His dad loved this car. His dad was going to kill him. He let out a nervous laugh, _ Holy shit _ . 

A plan. He needed a plan. Virgil forced himself to breath and looked around him. Alright, damage control: He looked over the car. Nothing was broken, it seemed his father hadn’t had the chance to drive it recently. The whole space still reeked of alcohol and Virgil made a mental note to invest in an air freshener, maybe some Febreze. A blinking  _ E _ is what caught his attention. He cursed, he need gas. Virgil scowled and began driving towards the gas station. He guessed his dad didn’t have the decency to refill the tank while he was out. 

He had his duffel bag, and with it his wallet, phone, clothes, and toiletries. He always had the bag packed- just in case he needed to crash at a friend’s place for the night. Okay, he had supplies, he would be fine. 

Virgil tried to look on the bright side. Nothing disastrous had happened. He wasn’t hurt, the car wasn’t broken, and he had all his things. Knowing his father, he would pout and mope around the house a few days, drink a couple beers, then get over it. Hell, he’d probably be happier without Virgil around. Either way, Virgil was never going back.

He grabbed his wallet from the duffel bag as he drove and fished out his card. He needed enough to get…. Wherever he was going. Virgil ran a hand through his hair, he just needed to get away from here. 

Virgil saw the gas station coming up on his left. He parked and began to fill his tank. He should grab some food. There was a cooler in the trunk of the car, he could grab some ice and stock up. But Virgil was already exhausted. He didn’t know if he could handle interacting with people anymore today. Even if it was just the gas station cashier. He felt that if he opened his mouth he would start sobbing, or have a panic attack. Probably both.

Still, he needed food. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday and if he didn’t get some food now he would seriously regret it tomorrow. If he held his breath and steeled himself then he could survive the two minutes at checkout. He figured it was the best plan he could come up with at the time. And, given the circumstances, it was a damn good one. He would eat a gas station dinner tonight, sleep in a motel if he could find one, the jeep if he couldn’t, and worry about all of this tomorrow. 

Virgil rubbed his knuckles, they were still sore and cut up. He would need to clean and wrap them up soon. They weren’t deep cuts but that didn’t stop Virgil from worrying about getting an infection. He had some rubbing alcohol in the car but he made another mental note to pick up some bandages. His cheek still stung as well.  _ Bandages and tylenol _ , he amended. He paid quickly and moved the jeep to a parking spot so he could run and buy what he needed. 

The gas station smelled like disinfectant and circus tent. A scent that simultaneously smelled cleaner than a doctor’s office and dirtier than a farm. It was a distinct smell and one that Virgil was embarrassed to admit that he was very familiar with. The dim ceiling light shone on the linoleum floors as a tired cashier idly played on his phone. Virgil steered himself to the back end of the store and grabbed some water bottles, energy drinks, and chips. He snagged a quarter gallon of milk while he was at it and moved to pick up a couple packets of jerky. Virgil thought jerky was disgusting satan meat but he needed some for of protein so he decided it was worth it to suffer. 

He felt the anxiety creep up into his throat as he paid. Logically, he knew that the cashier couldn't care less about who Virgil was or why he was there. But he felt like the kid was staring into his soul. He was judging Virgil, it was like he knew what Virgil had done and it was only a matter of time before everyone else did too.

Virgil tried in vain to calm his pounding heart as his items were handed back to him. He managed to choke out a strangled thank you and sprinted back to the car. But the real panic didn’t take hold until he was dumping ice in the cooler. It hit him like a freight train, his vision swayed in and out of focus in a second, leaving him dizzy and nauseous. He fucked up. He forced himself to set the ice down as he gripped the edge of the trunk. He seriously fucked up. His breathing began to pick up. He punched his dad. He  _ punched _ his  _ father _ . What was he thinking? He had graduated a couple days ago, he only had to deal with his father one more summer and he  _ fucked up _ . 

All he had to do was survive two more months and he would have been free. Tears began to fall down his face, sliding over his nose and dripping on the rough floor of the trunk. Now he was alone with no idea where he was going to sleep tonight, or where his next meal was, or even where he was going. Because he couldn’t go back home. His dad would kill him, or call the cops on him, or both. He needed to get away from here. He needed to get far away. 

He forced himself to take a large shuddering breath. Then another. And another. He forced himself to keep breathing until his vision cleared and he didn’t feel like he was going to throw up anymore. He sniffed loudly and wiped his eyes. He could deal with this later. The future would be thought about later, he needed to focus on right now. He pushed himself up and finished putting the water and milk away. Then he strode to the front seat and sat down. He rested his forehead against the steering. 

_ I am independent _ , he reminded himself. _ I am independent, I am eighteen, and I can survive this _ . He looked up and started the car. He just needed a good plan. He would find a place to sleep tonight and then he would figure this all out. 

Virgil drove out of the parking lot and turned back onto the state road that would carry him away from his old life. And Virgil, despite the situation being disastrous, unprecedented, and unplanned, drove towards the sunset and _ smiled.  _

o0o

Four sons, four racers, four runners, approach the starting line. Patton Bowen, sweet and kind and scared, running from the present. The immediate, glaring problem that threatens to swallow him whole if he isn’t careful. Logan Sharpe, angry and raw and unprepared, running from the future. His  future, one he did not ask for and one he is determined to change. Roman Alvarado, guilt-ridden and homesick and petrified, running from himself. From the mistake he made and the person who drove him to it. And Virgil Mercer, anxious and liberated and free, running from the past. Wishing to disappear and come back as someone different, someone new. 

The stage is set, are you ready?


	3. The Sun Will Be Guiding You

Logan knew, of course, that he had grown up sheltered. He was the son of two very prosperous people. He’d never been in a fight, he had been raised on enough tutors to fill a school, and had attended more dinner parties than he had had scraped knees. He was raised in the lap of luxury and he knew this. He’d never had to ask or struggle for anything. He had always had a full stomach and someone looking over his shoulder. He had always known that no matter what, he would always have enough money to prosper. Yet, he still deluded himself that the rest of the world would be as easy to navigate as his tutors’ lectures. 

** **

Once, when he was seven years old, still coddled by his nanny but finally beginning to realize the true nature of his parents, he had wanted to run away with her. He had overheard his parents say they were going to fire Laurel soon and Logan had been horrified. He had only interacted with them a handful of times at that point in his life (his fifth birthday, his first day of kindergarten, and when he got in trouble for correcting his teacher in first grade), but each time felt worse than the last. 

** **

His first thought was to burst into the room and plead with them to let Laurel stay. But Logan had been a dignified child and he thought begging was beneath him. He also knew it wouldn’t work. In fact, he guessed it would get Laurel kicked out faster. So he came up with a better plan. 

** **

“We’re running away together,” He’d declared. Like most of his decisions, he was sure, determined, and woefully unprepared. “If you leave Mother and Father will make me stay with Markus.” Logan had wrinkled his nose and ignored the tears in his eyes. He had always known this day would come, he just hadn’t thought it would be so soon. Laurel merely blinked at him before laughing airily.

** **

“You? Run away?” She asked through breathy chuckles. “I love you Lo, but you wouldn’t last a 

day out there. I promise you, Markus is nothing compared to what’s out there.” 

** **

Logan pressed his lips together. If only Laurel could see him now. Logan could already hear her laughing. “I told you so.” She would tease before fixing his many, many mistakes. She was only half right this time, though. He was floundering. It hadn’t even been an evening and he was already stuck. In theory he should know how to ride a bus. In theory. In actuality, he was standing at a bus stop waiting for a bus that was two hours late and wondering what he had done wrong. 

** **

There was a chance the vehicle was just late but knowing Logan that probably wasn’t the case. He might be at the wrong stop or looked at the wrong site for the arrival times. Hell, he might not even be at a bus stop at all. Logan ran a hand over his face.

** **

Still, anything was better than Markus. Even if he was a fish out of water, Logan was free. No more Markus and his condescending looks. No more mother and her false comfort. Most importantly, no more father and the pressure to run a business Logan would rather see burned to the ground. Now, there was no one to tell him who he could talk to or what to do. Logan was free to just be  _ Logan _ . 

** **

Still, he couldn’t be Logan if he was stuck on the side of the road. He turned his head towards the horizon and looked down the street. Nothing except for evening traffic. Logan glanced at his watch. He told himself ten more minutes. If no bus showed up by then he’d try his luck hitch hiking. 

** **

Logan crossed to the bench behind him and sat down. The metal was cold and the ridges on its surface duh into Logan’s skin. He wished he had packed pants. A steady breeze picked up from behind him and sent trails of goosebumps across his body. He wished he had packed a jacket. 

** **

He wished he had packed a lot of things, in retrospect. His stomach flipped whenever he thought about how unprepared he was. Surely he could have spent a few more minutes planning. 

** **

Logan cursed himself from earlier that evening. He had only been out here for a couple hours and he was already messing up this much. How would he survive the summer? The rest of his life? A part of him thought he should never have left. Everything would have been fine if he had just stayed home. Maybe his parents could have been reasoned with. Or maybe Markus had mellowed out. A smaller part of him was trying to drag him back. It was saying screw the bus and screw this plan. The rest of him felt a surge of relief when a city bus finally pulled into view. 

** **

Logan jumped up, slinging his bag over his shoulders. His heart thrummed in his chest, a nervous, excited tremor. Logan grinned as the doubt faded to the back of his mind and the certainty and anticipation from earlier that evening grew strong again. Logan stepped toward the edge of the curb to make sure the driver could see him. He wasn’t taking any chances. 

** **

The vehicle finally slowed to a stop, the silver and green sides looming over Logan as he took a deep breath. This was the point of no return. After he boarded this bus there would be no going back. No more chances to run back to Mother and Father to beg for forgiveness. Just him and the open road. Was Logan ready? 

** **

No, his brain supplied honestly. He was still just a kid, a recently graduated kid who’d never been allowed alone his entire life. Of course he wasn’t ready, he couldn’t have been. There was no chance for him to get ready- to take those baby steps between child and independent. But this wasn’t something most people are prepared for. Logan’s situation wasn’t exactly anything run of the mill. So the real question was whether Logan would take the leap of faith. Could he dive into the unknown with no certainty of where he would sleep or eat or work?

** **

Yes. A small smile spread across Logan’s face as he leapt up the bus steps and into uncertainty. 

** **

Logan paid his fare with little effort, offering the bus driver a tight lipped smile as he passed. He clutched his bag closer to his body as he looked down the tight aisle. It was packed, filled to the brim with travelers, locals, and workers. No more empty seats, and only a few with the room for one more. Logan glanced over the crowd- not the old lady, she seemed the type to drag his life story out of him, or at least give Logan hers. The middle aged man was out of the question, just one glance gave Logan goosebumps. There were a few others, all adults who looked friendly enough. But Logan didn’t want to risk anyone clueing into his plans. 

** **

The best choice seemed to be a boy around his own age. He was staring out the window, pressed up against the glass. With any luck he would notice Logan’s desire to be alone and Logan would get to enjoy a pleasant, and silent ride. He strode over to where the kid was sitting and gingerly sat next to him, being careful to not accidentally touch the kid or his things. God forbid he think Logan wanted to talk with him. 

** **

Logan set his bag at his feet and fished inside it for a book. He’d only had room for two so he made sure to bring his favorites. As he leaned forward he noticed the kid next to him had an equally large bag. His brow furrowed. Vacation? But Logan hadn’t seen anyone who could be this boy’s parents. Maybe he just carried a lot of things. Logan knew a girl who carried her entire wardrobe, makeup, and hair with her at all times. How she managed all that weight, Logan would never know. 

** **

Perhaps he was like Logan? It was possible. Logan glanced up at the boy. His red and white bomber jacket looked well-worn and warm. He looked like someone who had dressed for travel, comfortable jeans, sturdy boots. His leg was shaking impatiently. Logan’s eyes widened as he realized the boy wasn’t looking out the window and towards the horizon; he was looking behind him. He was looking  _ back _ .

** **

Logan shot up, causing the boy to look away from the window. He went still when he noticed Logan’s insightful stare. The boy jerked away from him and pressed his body against the side, glaring at Logan before settling back to staring out the glass. 

** **

Logan smiled lightly and opened his book. That kid was definitely hiding something. Logan hoped he would get spooked and initiate a conversation but Logan was fully prepared to take the social reins if he needed to. A companion would be smart. A companion his age was smarter. It meant insurance, a seventeen year old runaway was very unlikely to call the cops on another seventeen year old runaway. It also meant protection, it was always safer to travel in a group. It reduced their risk of getting hurt while travelling. 

** **

Eventually, Logan let himself get lost in his book. It was one of his favorites- The Outsiders. A classic, but a wonderful story nonetheless. Logan remembered reading it almost everyday as a child. He remembered crying for most of it too. It had been one of those books that changed who he was as a person. Logan had long ago numbed himself to the books events, only having to deal with a tickle in the back of his throat. Today he merely found it ironic how fitting Ponyboy’s story was for Logan. 

** **

As Logan was turning the page he noticed the boy staring at him. Logan paused and turned his head to get a better look. The kid didn’t back down from the stare and neither did Logan. The boy looked like he was about to speak and Logan raised an eyebrow in expectation. 

** **

“You better not tell anyone about this- about me,” The kid finally said. His voice was strange. He didn’t speak with a different accent or an abnormal volume or pitch. But his voice had an odd cadence to it, like he was performing at all times. “Because it would really suck if you did. I went to a lot of trouble to catch this bus and I’d rather not do it again.”

** **

Logan slowly set his book on down on his lap. “I was not going to.” The kid may look brave but he was fiddling with the bottom of his jacket. “And I doubt you had more trouble than me.” 

** **

The kid smirked and gave Logan a huff of laughter. “Really? I waited for half an hour in ninety degree heat with a jacket on.” He challenged and Logan smiled.

** **

“Try two hours,” Logan said and the kid looked at him incredulously. 

** **

“Two hours? Were you waiting for a different bus or something?” The kid asked with a laugh which quickly quieted at the red creeping up Logan’s face. “Oh my god, were you?” 

** **

“Maybe?” Logan questioned and brought a hand to his face. “I don’t know, I’ve never taken a bus before.” The kid let out another burst of laughter. 

** **

“That’s fucking hilarious. I’m Roman.” He introduced himself with a tentative hand in Logan’s direction. 

** **

“Logan.” He took it.

** **

“Is this your first time travelling alone?” Roman asked, turning his whole body to Logan, now fully invested in the discussion.

** **

“Yes,” Logan admitted sheepishly. “I must admit, I’m woefully unprepared.” Roman raised his eyebrows.

** **

“I can tell. A tie? On the bus? In June?” He gestured to Logan’s blue tie that he always wore. Logan placed his hand on it defensively. “I would’ve expected you to be going to a job interview.” 

** **

“Well what about you? Have you travelled alone before?” Logan countered quickly, eager to get the attention away from himself. 

** **

“Not outside my home. My mom’s a little protective,” Roman said with a chuckle and a suddenly wistful smile. “But that doesn’t matter anymore. I’m here now.” Logan thought the statements were strange but decided not to press it. Roman had his secrets and Logan had his. Besides, he wasn’t going to try and get the life story of a kid he’s known for half an hour. 

** **

“Where are you headed?” He asked instead. 

** **

“I don’t know. I’ve thought about New York, maybe LA, but no real plan,” Roman replied and leaned back in his seat. “Haven’t had time to make one, if I’m being honest.”

** **

“Same here, actually.” Logan agreed quickly. This was the perfect chance. “Perhaps we could go together? At least until we both have a plan.” Roman furrowed his brow and gave Logan a questioning look.

** **

“Why? Not that you’re not a nice guy. But I just met you.” Roman pointed out.

** **

“Yes, I know it is a little strange,” Logan started. “But hear me out. It would be safer, cheaper, and you’re right, we don’t know each other, so once we go our separate ways you’ll never have to see me again.”

** **

Roman seemed to contemplate the offer as the nerves rose in Logan. Maybe he had come off too strong and scared Roman away. Maybe he shouldn’t have continued the conversation in the first place. This was why Logan didn’t talk to people.

** **

“Oh, screw it. Sure.” Roman interrupted Logan’s racing thoughts as he perked up in surprise.

** **

“Really?”

** **

“I don’t see why not.” Roman shrugged. “Better to travel with a friend than be alone.” 

** **

Logan grinned. “Wonderful. Where were planning on going first?”

** **

“Well, there’s a motel two stops from here that we could check out-”

** **

The conversation lulled back into casual small talk and Logan felt something new stir in his gut.  _ Excitement _ .

** **

o0o

** **

Virgil had been driving for too long. He had had a long day which stretched into a long drive and if Virgil didn’t take a break soon he was going to fall asleep at the wheel and die. Well, probably not die and probably not fall asleep but definitely something terrible. 

** **

Maybe a tree would fall down in the middle of the road and Virgil would spin out of control to avoid it. 

** **

Maybe it would start raining so hard that Virgil wouldn’t be able to see and he would swerve off the side of the road on accident. 

** **

Maybe the car in front of him would slam on the brakes because the truck in front of THAT car clipped the Jeep in its blind spot when it switched lanes and Virgil wouldn’t react fast enough because he was tired from all the driving and he would crash into the car and die. Yeah, that was more likely.

** **

He should get off at the next exit. Virgil needed to find a place to sleep and he needed to do so now. He needed to get off at the next exit. All he had to do was to merge right. He should turn on his turn signal. He should merge, move his car, do something other than keep driving straight ahead.

** **

He kept driving. 

** **

Virgil didn’t know why he wouldn’t- couldn’t- stop. Every time he tried to slow down or find an exit his body froze up. His blood would run cold and his stomach would turn. He thought he wanted to put more distance between himself and his father. He doubted the bastard would follow him, but his father loved this car so Virgil couldn’t be sure. 

** **

That scared Virgil. He could deal with anything else; the long drive, the uncertainty, the anxiety. But seeing his father was where he drew the line. He had survived his dad for eighteen years and after tasting just a couple hours of freedom he would do anything to never go back. 

** **

Growing up, Geoffrey Mercer was the monster under the bed and down the hall. 

He could fill a stadium with his voice and it would terrorize Virgil all night. He made the house smell like alcohol and Virgil’s clothes smell like smoke. He made Virgil learn to cook and clean and grow up too fast. 

** **

Even worse, he still took credit. In the afternoon he grinned and clapped Virgil on the shoulder with a reassuring warmth. So proud of his son who made straight A’s, worked a job, and joined every club. 

** **

At night he bellowed of the life he lost. One where Virgil was never born. 

** **

Sometimes Virgil wondered if his father from the afternoon knew Virgil did so well was so that he’d never have to see his evening father ever again. 

** **

And it was true, the farther Virgil was from his childhood the better. But he knew he was deluding himself if he thought that was keeping him on the road. In all honesty, Virgil was scared to stop. He was scared of what would happen if he did. He was scared he would shut down the moment he let himself relax. 

** **

While he was driving he had distractions: the other people on the road, the hum of the engine, the radio, and even the sun setting in the horizon. It helped him stay alert. If he stopped, if he rested, then Virgil would only have his thoughts and feelings to keep him company. Feelings that were always debilitating and thoughts that were often wrong. 

** **

Virgil was nothing if not a procrastinator- he would put this off until he was ready to keel over. 

** **

He watched the sun’s last rays dip below the horizon as the sky lost its warm orange hue. The moon was just barely visible in the sky, as were a few sporadic stars. It was a beautiful night, Virgil thought. A cool night too. He shut off his AC and rolled the windows down, the fresh night air clearing Virgil’s head. 

** **

He loved driving at night. He loved everything at night, to be honest. It was so much more peaceful- Virgil never had to worry about the amount of people or his friends or his father. At night there was just a pleasant wind, crickets, and the stars. 

** **

He couldn’t hear any now over the roar of wind as he drove, but he knew they were there. However, he could hear a voice ahead of him. He squinted to see the source of it, a boy with a large duffel bag. His arm was outstretched with his thumb up and he was yelling at each car that passed. Virgil couldn’t make out the exact words but he seemed to be a hitchhiker. 

** **

Virgil furrowed his brow, it was a little late to be hitchhiking. Most tended to be out in the daylight where they could secure a safer ride. Most also tended to stay away from highways- everyone was going too fast on an interstate highway. Most people had more luck on a state road. The kid must have been very new to this or very dumb. Maybe both. 

** **

As he got closer he noticed how close in age he seemed to Virgil. The kid could have been in Virgil’s grade- with his curly golden hair, baby face, and  _ oh my god _ . Was that _ Patton Bowen _ ? Virgil slowed down to get a better look. Holy shit it was Patton. 

** **

Virgil would recognize that face anywhere. Patton was the sweetest kid Virgil had ever met. Back before his father had taken a dive off the deep end, Virgil and his dad had been extremely involved in the local parish. His father went to bible study with Patton’s, Patton’s mom taught their CCD class. He and Patton had been the only two boys in their grade in the parish at the time so Patton had been his best friend. 

** **

Once Virgil’s dad became too drunk to show face in church he’d lost touch with the Bowen family. He’d wanted to reconnect with Patton for a while back in middle school but he could never bring himself to it. Seeing Patton always made him nostalgic and never in a good way. It always made him ache for the stability- when Geoffrey and Virgil were always welcome at the Bowen house and the Bowens welcome at theirs. 

** **

He still saw Patton at school but he never offered anything more than an awkward smile and a halfhearted wave. It was easier that way- never needing to be around the one thing he couldn’t have. It was better too, he wasn’t even sure Patton remembered him. They’d been so young, six or seven at most, it would make sense for Patton to regard him as a friendship of childhood convenience and nothing more. Virgil hoped Patton had never missed him as much as he missed Patton. 

** **

Virgil sunk down in his seat as far as he could while still being able to drive correctly. He flipped his hood up. Please don’t see me please don’t see me please don’t see me, Virgil thought as his car drew nearer. Patton looked distressed and aggravated but hadn’t seemed to notice Virgil yet. 

** **

“Hey! I could really use a-” Virgil sped past before Patton could finish his sentence. Virgil heaved a sigh of relief, he really didn’t need anyone else with him right now. No one knew where he was going and he couldn’t risk giving Patton Bowen a ride back to town. 

** **

Actually, he had never seen Pat without his parents outside of school before. So what was he doing on the side of the highway at nine o’clock at night? An absurd thought jumped through Virgil’s brain. Maybe Patton was ditching their town as well. Maybe church life had gotten too stuffy and Patton was finally going to have his rebellious teen phase. 

** **

Virgil glanced behind at Patton through the mirror. If Virgil didn’t know any better it looked like Patton was about to cry. Virgil gripped the steering wheel tighter. 

** **

No. It was easier- better- to leave him. Virgil, and Patton, would be fine on their own. Another passenger would only slow him down. Besides, Virgil didn’t even have a plan for himself, how could he plan for two. He didn’t want to burden Patton with himself. Maybe the kid just got lost. 

** **

Another look in the mirror had him thinking otherwise. “Shit,” Virgil cursed and pulled over. Even if Virgil was just overreacting and Patton did only need a ride back home he could just drop him off at the next bus stop. 

** **

Patton noticed Virgil’s parked car and began jogging over just as Virgil hopped out of the driver's seat. 

** **

“Hey, Patton!” He called just as the boy recognized Virgil’s face. “Need a ride?”

** **

Virgil watched relief flood Patton’s features. He picked up his speed until he skidded in front of Virgil, breathing heavily and grinning. “Yeah,” He said, pausing to catch his breath. “Virgil. I haven’t seen you in…”

** **

“Years.” Virgil finished, offering Patton a sad smile. 

** **

“It was boring at the parish after you left, kiddo,” Patton commented and Virgil could feel the awkward tension beginning to build. He really hated talking to people. His palms were starting to sweat already and it hadn’t even been five minutes. 

** **

“Damn, really? I thought a whole bunch of new families joined after my dad and I left?” Virgil questioned and leaned against the trunk of the Jeep. 

** **

“Sure, yeah, but none as interesting as you,” Patton replied, seeming genuinely surprised that Virgil didn’t know that was interesting. “You were the most fun second grader in all of New Hampshire.” Patton grinned and Virgil gave a short chuckle. 

** **

“Trust me, dude, it’s been all downhill from there,” Virgil muttered darkly. A sharp breeze picked up and ruffled the fabric of Virgil’s jacket. He noticed that Patton, who was only wearing shorts, a polo, and a cardigan, began to shiver. “Get in the car. You are not dressed for the weather.” Virgil nodded to the passengers side. Patton nodded and scurried over. 

** **

The two hopped unceremoniously into the car and Virgil popped the key into the ignition. “We’re not, um,” Patton piped up in the quiet, fiddling with the sleeve of his cardigan. “You don’t need to drop me off back home.” Patton admitted as he looked at the car floor. 

** **

Ah, so Virgil was right. He nodded sympathetically. “Okay, that’s cool,” He cleared his throat a little. “Anything happen with you and your folks?” The small, constant smile on Patton’s face melted in an instant. Virgil’s face fell. Oh god, he overstepped and now Patton was going to hate him forever. 

** **

“I- um. You see, well, they sort of-” Patton began. Virgil could hear him getting choked up. 

** **

Nope. Virgil was not mentally or emotionally equipped to deal with a crying Patton. 

** **

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that's fine too!” He amended quickly, hoping to change the topic. “But there’s no judgement here. We’ve all met my old man.” That seemed to distract him. Patton sniffed and looked up. 

** **

“I actually haven’t seen your dad since you guys left the congregation. Is he doing alright?” Patton asked innocently and Virgil blanched. 

** **

It was common knowledge that his father was an alcoholic. Virgil has gotten enough pitying looks from teachers, bosses, even cashiers to know that pretty much their whole town knew. The church families were the biggest gossips of all. Was Patton  _ joking? _

** **

“You- you’re kidding right?” Virgil asked and Patton only tilted his head in confusion. “You really don’t know?” Patton shook his head. 

** **

“Know what?” He asked and Virgil felt his soul leave his body as he started laughing. Exhausted little snickers that quickly turned into manic guffaws. 

** **

“Oh my god. This is great, really, this is fantastic,” he said. It was, Virgil missed when people didn’t stare. It was exhausting and now he had one person who didn’t stare because he just didn’t know. “I’ll tell you later, Pat. I just need to make sure this isn’t a dream.” 

** **

Patton gave him a weird look but didn’t question it. Comfortable silence blanketed the two as the night sky took full effect. Virgil glanced up and grinned.

** **

“Can I turn on the radio?” Patton asked after a while. Virgil nodded.

** **

“Sure, I can’t promise anything good so feel free to change it if you don’t like it,” Virgil replied and Patton reached forward. Sure enough, his dads station was still on. It was a country station that only played bad country music- you know, the songs about your tractor and being casually sexist to the girls you hang out with. Both boys cringed as Patton hurried to change the station. 

** **

More country. Death metal, damn Virgil must not have used the radio in a while if his death metal station was still there. Christian rock, Patton looked like he had been slapped across the face. Virgil grimaced and turned off the radio. Patton’s face flushed. 

** **

“Sorry,” Patton muttered. “Just- bad memories.” 

** **

“No, it’s cool dude. I get that,” Virgil said. He pointed to the back seat. “My phone is in the black bag back there. Connect it to the aux cord, I’m sure I’ve got half decent music on there. Unless you have something you’d rather play on your phone.” Patton’s face got redder. 

** **

“We can use yours. I don’t have my phone,” Patton admitted. Virgil let out a breath. 

** **

“Oh. You’re serious.” Virgil looked at Patton’s anxious face. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna rat you out or anything. Mama didn’t raise no snitch and all that. I’m not going back home for a while either.” 

** **

Patton’s relief was obvious and immediate. Virgil groaned internally. This kid was going to die on his own. 

** **

“Oh, wonderful,” Patton said and clapped his hands, like he was applauding the situation. “You can just drop me off at your next stop then.” He grinned, all rosy cheeked and innocent. Virgil raised his eyebrows. 

** **

“Oh man I’m going to regret this,” he muttered to himself. “No I’m not. You're so underequipped I would feel wrong if I left you on your own.” Patton looked offended. 

** **

“I can take care of myself, thank you very much,” Patton huffed. “Besides, how would you know better than me?” Virgil heaved a sigh.

** **

“You look like you just walked out of mass. You’re wearing a t-shirt and shorts when it’s fucking cold out. You're hitchhiking. You’re hitchhiking in the most inconvenient place and at the most dangerous time,” He listed off. “Need I continue?”

** **

“No.” Patton blushed. Then rounded back on Virgil. “But you’re not any better. You just said you have no idea where you’re going. You’re dressed like you do crack on the weekends, god forbid you need to ask for directions. You’re almost out of gas, you’re music sucks, and you look exhausted.” Virgil stared at him, stunned.

** **

“I didn’t know you made jokes like that.” 

** **

“I don’t. You’re just an idiot too.” Patton shrugged. “I’d say we’re both underprepared.” 

** **

Virgil hummed. “Sure, but together we probably make one functional human being.” 

** **

Patton giggled. “That we do. Do you mind if I stick around?” He asked with a grin. Virgil returned it.

** **

“If you don’t mind being stuck with me,” Virgil replied. “Come on, I’ve got some warmer clothes in the truck so you don’t freeze, let’s go get gas…. And some sleep.” Patton laughed again and Virgil refocused on the road. Patton wasn’t the worst friend to have, all things considered. He didn’t dare acknowledge it, but Virgil felt something warm bubbling in his chest. Happiness.

** **

o0o

** **

Old friends fall back into an easy rhythm. Reunited under strange circumstances but together again all the same. Not too far behind two strangers take a risk and hope it won't bite them back. But they’re finding that there was never much to be worried about. They’re all speeding towards a common place on a night that will change their lives. 

** **

They don’t know it, but for a second, one fateful second, all four hearts beat in unison as they speed towards the next stop. The shout of destiny rings loud and true. The race has begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's my big bang! I can't believe I actually finished it lmao. Also, all chapter titles are lyrics from the song Run, Boy, Run by Woodland Kid


End file.
